


I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea (But it Seemed Like a Good One at the Time)

by PyromanicSchizophrenic



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Not youtubers, Phil is an awkward gangly mess, but we love him anyway, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 08:43:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15287841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PyromanicSchizophrenic/pseuds/PyromanicSchizophrenic
Summary: Phil Lester had a problem, an idea, and a myriad of other, more significant problems, in that exact order.





	I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea (But it Seemed Like a Good One at the Time)

Phil Lester had a problem, an idea, and a myriad of other, more significant problems, in that exact order. The problem that kickstarted this whole ordeal was that he managed to lock himself out of his flat for the twelfth time this month, and he was sure that the landlady wouldn't appreciate him asking for a spare key  _again_ (this was mainly due to the fact that the last time this happened, three days prior, she had asked him to  _please_ try not to need a spare for  _at least_ a week). And his flatmate, PJ, wasn't even supposed to get out of work for another three hours, and he wasn't allowed use of his phone at work. He considered phoning a locksmith or something, but the problem wasn't that he'd lost his key or anything, it was just that he's always had a bad habit of forgetting to take it when he leaves his flat.

The idea that he had was, at the time, the most brilliant idea of all time, ever. Around the back of each flat was a fire escape, which had direct access to the windows. Phil never actually locked his windows--he knew perfectly well that he  _should_ , but he could never actually be bothered. It's not like he had a whole lot worth stealing anyway, just a rather small TV and a whole lot of houseplants.

The first of the myriad of other, more significant problems: he couldn't tell which fire escape was his flat. He tried to get a good look into the windows, knowing that his was one of the ones with the lights off and the blinds open, but that was hardly helpful. It was the middle of the afternoon and the sun shone in on those windows, so loads of people had their blinds open and their lights off. Phil decided that the best thing to do is count from the end. He was about eighty-five percent certain he had the right one.

The second problem: the ladder was stuck in its position four feet off the ground and Phil was neither dextrous enough nor flexible enough to be able to get his feet onto the bottom rung. He tried to pull himself up far enough that he could get a foothold using just his arms, but what Phil lacked in flexibility and dexterity he did  _not_ make up for in upper-arm strength. He sort of just hung there for a few seconds, swinging his legs back and forth in an attempt to get higher up on the ladder.

A sudden noise startled a half-shout out of Phil, and he lost his already questionable grip on the ladder and fell, landing hard on his backside. A stray cat had hopped out of a trashcan, and zoomed out past Phil. Phil huffed and stood up, barely brushing the dirt off his jeans before he started trying to tackle the ladder again. This time, as he hung from it, there was a little bit of give before the ladder slid down to the ground, once again knocking Phil to the ground.

Phil was genuinely surprised that he hadn't rolled his ankle or something worse. He stood back up, not bothering to brush himself off again (he'd probably just fall for a third time), and started climbing the ladder. It was, unsurprisingly, much easier when Phil didn't have to fight for a foothold, although his feet did slip a couple times.

When he finally made it onto the fire escape, Phil was faced with his next problem (he'd lost count, since the fight with the ladder constituted problems two through six or so): he had no idea how to open a window from the outside. This always seemed easier in films.

This problem was, fortunately, solved pretty easily, when Phil tried the first thing he could think of and pressed his hands flat against the glass and pushed up. As soon as there was a gap wide enough to fit his hands, Phil lifted the window up all the way and faced his next problem: actually getting  _through_ the window. He had enough self-awareness to know that climbing in headfirst wasn't quite the brightest idea, but he didn't fancy ripping his jeans in an attempt to climb in one foot at a time, given that the window's higher off the floor of the flat than it is the floor of the fire escape.

Phil sat on the window sill and carefully spun himself around so his feet were dangling inside the building and tried to slide himself in. He smacked his head on the bottom of the window, not hard enough that his vision spotted but hard enough that he knew he'd be sporting a nasty knot under his fringe. He landed clumsily and collapsed to the floor, but he wasn't as surprised by that as he probably should have been.

Phil stood up, rubbing his forehead gently, trying to assess the damage. No sooner than he could turn around towards the interior of the flat, he found a cricket bat coming at his face. Phil barely had time to duck out of the way, and he somehow managed to throw himself directly into a wall. Now he was going to have a bump on his forehead  _and_ the top of his head.

For the fourth time that day, Phil fell to the ground.

"You are the clumsiest burglar I've ever seen."  _Burglar?_ Phil stood up, assessing his surroundings and the speaker.

The speaker was about Phil's height, with short brown curls for hair and brown eyes wide with something that looked like fear, although the fear was quickly seeping away. He was still holding the cricket bat, but less in an  _I'm going to attack this stranger_ way and more in a  _he could still be dangerous I should keep this away from him_ kind of way.

The flat, upon actually looking at it, was absolutely, 100%, not Phil's flat.

"This isn't my flat," Phil said stupidly.

"Obviously," the stranger said, tightening his grip on his bat.

Phil held up his hands in surrender. "I just meant, I locked myself out of  _my_ flat. I tried to get in through the fire escape and I must have got the wrong one, I'm sorry." The idea that all of Phil's efforts regarding the ladder were rendered useless by the fact that he's in the  _wrong_ flat is an affront to Phil's nonexistent dignity.

"Why didn't you just phone Mrs. Davies?" demanded the stranger, which, Phil had to admit, was a totally fair question.

"Well," Phil started, trying to find a way to explain himself that didn't involve him admitting that he'd forgotten his key eleven times prior in just the past few weeks. "It's awful close to tea time, and I didn't want to bother her."

"This isn't the first time you've locked yourself out of your flat, is it?" the stranger asked, and Phil was genuinely impress by his deduction skills.

"Uh, no," Phil admitted. "Far from it. Mrs. Davies actually asked me not to do it again for at least a week. Three days ago."

"Wow. And you couldn't, I don't know, call your flatmate?" That was a bold assumption, that Phil had a flatmate. He did, obviously--these flats weren't cheap, and they were all built for two people--but it was the principle of the matter.

"He's at work," Phil explained. "He works in film, so he's not allowed his phone until he gets out. Climbing in the window was really the only option."

"I doubt that's true." The stranger finally dropped his cricket bat and held out a hand. "I'm Dan, by the way. You can stay here until your flatmate gets home, if you'd like."

"Phil," Phil replied, taking Dan's hand. "It's a nice flat, by the way. It could use a few houseplants, though."

* * *

Three hours later, Phil's phone rang, interrupting him and Dan from a very intense round of MarioKart. Phil pause the game and answered, "Hello?"

_Er...Phil? Where are you? I though you were meant to be home_ hours _ago!_

Phil blinked. "Oh, hey PJ. I sort of...locked myself out."

Phil hear PJ sigh.  _Again?_

"I'll be home in a couple minutes, alright?"

_Okay_.

Phil hung up the phone and resumed the game, very nearly beating Dan in the entire circuit, but not quite because he ended the last race in sixth. At the end, Phil stood up and stretched. "I should get going," he said, because he'd promised PJ.

"Feel free tom come by again," Dan offered. "But, through the front door, maybe, next time?"

"Deal," Phil agreed. "And don't forget, a few houseplants for the decor."

"Get out of my flat."

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago and forgot to post it. Found it again and...well, not sharing this gem would just be a crime, now wouldn't it? 
> 
> Feel free to tell me what you think! And follow me on tumblr at pyromanicschizophrenic!


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